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« Come On People Now, Smile On Your Brother | Main | Danger: Blogger in the Family »

February 17, 2007

Comments

Another great post.

I remember I was horrified when I was helping out on a revival of HAIR for a local community college.

They got the costumes fairly right, the headbands and such. But when they held up their signs of Make Love/Not War, each was emblazened with a Mercedes Benz symbol!

No one, including the faculty, remembered that the peace symbol had three legs, not two!

And I can remember way back when I was very small, a neighbor had a bumper sticker on their car; a large peace sign with the words: Footprint of the American Chicken.

I think he was a Nixon supporter.

Danny, another great peek into your family history, which lends itself to a peek into the culture and thinking of that time period. Your grandfather tried to use a bit of Jewish guilt in his letter, pulling up the reference from the previous week's Haftorah reading...

Thanks for sharing. And mazel tov on the family simcha.

I loved this post but perhaps you should have asked your Uncle permission to disclose ...after all, he is a lawyer now, and we all know what lawyers like to do!!
That smoke must have been those awful Sher Bidis (excuse the spelling) he smoked for a while...those had to be the worse!!!(LOL)
Thank G-d he no longer does, and has become his own person...not the retailer his dad wanted him to be. Looking back, it's like another lifetime even though it's forty years ago...like wandering in the desert for forty years changed a nation of people.
I'm starting to think that in memory of the sixties, we should try to elevate the White House or Pentagon for peace now on the date Allen Ginsberg died..only this time through cyber prayers...anyone interested? I think that's april 4th.

That last sentence in your grandfather's letter that begins, "I pray every day...."

My Catholic mother uttered those very words when I became an Episcopalian at age 21 and declined attending Mass while visiting my family. Yes, in their mind my life among the tweed-wearing, wine-sipping tasteful Protestants was RADICAL. And this was years BEFORE the American church accepted women priests and gay bishops....

Wow. That letter from your grandfather would make me cry. I thought my family was good with the guilt...

When I was kid, there was always at least one hippie house at the end of the street and there were rumors that kids went there to trick-or-treat and were never seen again. By the late seventies, when I was in junior high, punk rock was in and the kids in my school had total disdain for hippies. Hippies were thought of as coke heads who all sold-out. I think the term used most often back then was "f-in' hippies". It really wasn't until 1986-87, that the hippie nostalgia began again.

I love your hippie posts.

What a generation, so idealistic, street smart and naive all at the same time. Your uncle was lucky, right? And Joey really benefits from all this, having a father so willing to talk to him about his life. Nothing beats that. Nothing.

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